


Improper

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 09:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20927765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Sam shops for his nocturnal friend.





	Improper

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Frodo answers the door with a cheery smile, looking absolutely radiant. He always does. The evening light is dying down, the sun set behind the hills, and there’s just enough left to cast him in a warm glow of oranges and purples. Some say that Frodo’s much too pale, that his eyes glow red sometimes and that that’s _ugly_, but Sam likes all of Frodo’s colours. He smiles back and greets, “Good evening, Mr. Frodo.”

“Good evening, Sam,” Frodo replies, spotting the grocery bag in Sam’s hands and stepping aside. Sam steps in through the door and doesn’t care who sees. He feels a sense of pride when Frodo closes that door behind him. The two of them are alone, and unlike the idiots down at the pub, Sam’s perfectly happy about that situation. 

He follows Frodo into the pantry, the two of them falling easily into the familiar routine. Sam sets his paper bag down on the counter, and Frodo fishes some coins out of the cookie jar to give him. While Sam pockets the change, Frodo puts the groceries away. It’s all the things that he would buy if the sun weren’t so troublesome or the market opened up at night. But this works: Sam doesn’t mind doing his shopping. It gives Sam an excuse to be by after hours when Frodo’s up and awake, though he’s always cutely sleepily in the early evenings. He’s usually asleep right through the morning when Sam’s around to do the garden. As Frodo tucks the vegetables away, he asks, “What is it, Sam?”

“Hm?”

“You seem a little down tonight.”

That can’t be right, because Sam’s never down when he’s with Frodo. But he does have a few small problems on his mind. He doesn’t mean to say them, but Frodo looks at him with those big, beautiful eyes, and Sam’s resolve seems to crumble: he opens his mouth and tells Frodo what he wants to know. “It’s only some of the other hobbits in the village were calling you strange again, but never you mind them, Mr. Frodo. Ted Sandyman’s the worst of ‘em, and everybody knows that nobody listens to Ted. If you ask me, I just think he’s jealous.”

He didn’t mean to admit that. He immediately feels sheepish, but Frodo only smiles, unperturbed as usual by accusations that would have another hobbit fuming. He even laughs, “Well, I am strange, I suppose.” Which feels like blasphemy, and Sam would hurriedly correct it, except Frodo keeps on going. “It’s something of a curse, you know, and how many hobbits do you know who can say they’re cursed?”

Absolutely none, unless old Bilbo counts. But Sam still insists, “You’re a perfectly nice gentlehobbit.”

“Well, thank you, Sam. That’s quite nice of you to say.”

It’s only the truth. Sam nods curtly, cheeks hot. Frodo puts the bread out on the counter, then searches the bag and asks, “Were they out of milk again?”

“Sorry, Mr. Frodo, but they were.”

“Oh. Well, that’s alright.” Frodo continues with the last few things hiding around the bottom of the bag, and then he folds it up and returns it to Sam, who stuffs it in his pocket for later use. That technically concludes their business, but Sam doesn’t leave.

He’s done this before. He still feels like his tongue is too big for his mouth and his brain isn’t telling him the words right. He fumbles through suggesting, “You could, um... that is, if you’re hungry—or thirsty, I suppose it is—I mean to say, if you would like something else...”

Despite Sam’s confusion, comprehension dawns on Frodo’s face. He looks surprised for a moment, even though the last time was very much enjoyable and _of course_ Sam would come back. Then he asks, “Are you sure, Sam?” Sam nods; he definitely is. 

A glowing smile stretches Frodo’s lips. He leans in to kiss Sam’s cheek, lightly chuckling, “That’s very kind of you.”

It isn’t, really. It’s entirely selfish. Sam would do just about anything for Frodo—any excuse to be around Frodo, to endear himself to Frodo more. While Frodo smiles serenely at him, Sam fiddles open the first two buttons of his shirt, then tugs back his collar. Frodo’s eyes dart down to his neck, and a little pink tongues comes out to trace soft lips. Sam nearly shivers from that alone. 

Ridiculously gentle, Frodo’s hand falls on his arm. Frodo takes a step closer, smelling of pine and flowers. He turns his face to the side of Sam’s, and he leans slowly in to close his lips around Sam’s exposed throat. 

There’s a little pinprick feeling of Frodo’s fangs sinking down into his skin. It hurts for half a second, then dulls, and warmth spreads over him instead—a sweeping dizziness as his blood rushes all into one area. Frodo doesn’t take much, and he doesn’t stay long. He drains enough to swallow once, then carefully pulls back and kisses over the wounds. Sam can feel them immediately stitching closed. There won’t be anything left tomorrow, which is a shame, because Sam would like a lasting reminder. Frodo shudders as he straightens up again, his eyes hazy and half-lidded. He looks flushed and sated. Sam would do anything for another kiss. 

“Thank you, Sam.” Frodo all but purrs. He looks at Sam with such obvious fondness that Sam actually thinks he has a chance. But he doesn’t have the nerve to say it. He tries to smile. 

He manages: “It’s no trouble, Sir. Just... let me know when you’d like more.”

“You really are very sweet, Sam. Thank you.” Frodo’s hand is still on Sam’s arm, and it squeezes lightly. “But you should go now before I want any more tonight.”

Sam wants to give more. But he’s too embarrassed to say so, so he nods and mumbles, “Good night.” Frodo hums the same and walks Sam to the door.

Sam leaves with a lingering wave, but he tells himself that next time, he’ll stay right through until the morning.


End file.
